Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Using inanimate objects as characters – Elizabeth Kay

It’s been the mainstay of many a book for small children – Thomas the Tank Engine is one of the
biggest sellers of all time. But adult writers use inanimate objects as well. Christine, by Stephen King, is one of
the scariest books I’ve ever read, even though you know the premise is totally
impossible. A murderous car that reassembles itself every time someone tries to
smash it up? He also wrote one of
the best books on writing ever written – called, appropriately enough – On Writing.

The closest I’ve ever got to that was a poem called In Memoriam, which was published in The Spirit Collection.

So sudden. The night
before you were fine,

a little hesitant, perhaps, your growl

more pronounced. But
no real warning, no sign,

that you would never stir again. The towel

had been thrown in, and I was not prepared.

I washed you lovingly that final time,

with steady hands - but I was feeling scared

of how I’d cope without you.
In your prime

you gave me all you had.
Such memories;

the coast road to Dubrovnik, winding down

to camp amongst the fig and olive trees -

and then at dusk, the short run into town.

I knew your moods - you didn’t like the damp,

you used to grumble in the fog, but then

it took more than a rainy day to cramp

your style; and now you’ll never move again.

He came for you next morning, blocked the street

with his conveyance.
Several curtains twitched;

the rain, in sympathy, turned into sleet.

And I just stood and watched, as though bewitched.

He chained you to the tow-truck, and I felt

the wrench as he began to pull away -

but in the cards that breakdown dealer dealt,

post-mortem, you
had one last trump to play.

Your muscles tightened, stiffened with a jerk -

a handbrake rigor
mortis, then the smell

of burning rubber, wheels that wouldn’t work.

He had to stop. He
shouted, “What the hell?

A clapped-out car that doesn’t want to leave?”

I looked away - then I saw the lily,

laughed, and placed it on your bonnet. I’ll grieve

in private; Sierra tears look silly.

So, car, you’ve reached that scrapheap in the sky -

and I must loot the papers for another.

I won’t forget you.
But someone, tell me why

I didn’t weep this way about my mother?

I think things with wheels or legs make the best characters,
as they’re potentially mobile. It’s quite difficult to be convincing about a naughty
watering can that gets the urge to wet people’s feet every so often, or a large
stone that has a severe case of depression.

But as with
all stories, it’s what motivates the characters that really matters, and as we
have no idea how watering can or a boulder might think, we’re free to let our
imaginations run riot. I’ve experimented with sentient coat-stands and chairs,
both of which have feet, and it’s fun. Of course, magic helps enormously…

“You’re so lucky, living here,” said Mattie’s friend Bryony.
The two of them were sitting in the porch to get away from the rain, watching
the stone statues pulling each other’s hair and kicking one another on the
shins. “I wish I had a greeting-chair that ran to meet me when I got
home from school.”

“Sometimes
it gallops off with me instead,” Mattie pointed out, “and tips me into the
fountain.”

Mattie sighed, and went to get her coat. The coat-stand,
which was made of the very best eldritch-ebony, had been in an argumentative
mood. “It’s going to rain again later,” it told her, in its I-know-best
voice. “You’re not going out without boots, an umbrella and that nice thick
winter raincoat.”

“But it’s summer!” Mattie had protested.

“I think you’ll find I’m older
and wiser than you, child,” said the coat-stand patronisingly. “It can get
quite cold in June. I’m not opening the front door until you do as I say.”

The fun part is trying to imagine what actually matters to these characters. Clearly, a
coat-stand performs a particular function, so caring about clothing and the
weather works well. To make it funny you need to exaggerate it, though. You can
also make your inanimate object behave out of character – statues traditionally
are rather austere, so having them thump each other and pull one another’s hair
turns them into spiteful children. As with every character, give it a hobby or
an obsession and it springs to life. And the more inappropriate the hobby, the
better. It’s not so different from trying to make a troll come to life… Snot
the Troggle appears in Jinx on the Divide, and although he exhibits many
trollish tendencies, he’s not your standard troll…

The creature that confronted him was something he’d never
actually seen before, although he’d heard about them. It was huge. It was mean.
It was a troggle – he’d heard it called a troll, in the other world. It sat
there and stared at him with its little ice-blue eyes, the chain that worked
the lift looped over its shoulder. It obviously hauled the cage up and down all
by itself, for there was a faint sheen of sweat on its skin. It would hate the
daylight, so a career as an elevator operative down here was ideal.

“Hello,” said Grimspite, unsure
how to tackle this.

The troggle grunted. Its lips
hardly moved, although its yellowish tusks quivered slightly. It had a square
flattish snout, and big pointed ears that stuck out at an angle. Its hair was
thick and a dull brownish-grey, like old rope, and it had two knitting needles
stuck behind one ear. It had the most muscular body Grimspite had ever seen on
a two-legged being, which may have been why it didn’t seem bothered by the
sight of sinistrom…

“That’s nice,” said Grimspite,
pointing to whatever it was the creature was making.

The troggle held it up. It was a gauntlet – he wasn’t
knitting with wool, he was using a ball of wire.

Have a look around you. What could you animate? A coffee cup
that hates tea? A printer that has a mind its own? A camera that takes pictures
when no one’s looking? There are endless possibilities…

2 comments:

Interesting post Elizabeth. The singer/songwriter Nev Clay has a song about this, he says if you put cartoon eyes on anything it becomes cute and a character! I think of my cars as living critters (well all the girls and they have names - my last car was a BMW and somehow male and nameless). Poets sometimes write in the voices of inanimate things. The Japanese films such as Spirited Away have enriched this tradition, animating legless beings like rivers.